And so I've found my native country, <br />that soil the gravedigger will frame, <br />where they who write the words above me <br />do not for once misspell my name. <br /> <br />This black collection-box receives me <br />(for no one needs me any more), <br />this Iron Six that was worth twenty, <br />this coin left over from the war. <br /> <br />None needs that iron ring inscripted <br />with sweet words, that the world is new: <br />rights, land. - Our laws are the leftovers; <br />now pretty gold rings all pursue. <br /> <br />For many years I had been lonely. <br />Then many people visited. <br />I'd have been happy if they'd stayed. <br />You are alone, was what they said. <br /> <br />And so I lived, useless and empty, <br />and now I see it all quite plain. <br />They let me play the fool until <br />by now even my death's in vain. <br /> <br />All through my life I've tried to weather <br />the whirlwind that would always blow. <br />I was more sinned against than sinning, <br />and it's a laugh that it was so. <br /> <br />Spring, summer, autumn, all are lovely; <br />but winter's loveliest for one <br />who hopes for hearth and home and family <br />only for others, when all's done.<br /><br />Attila Jozsef<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/and-so-i-ve-found-my-native-country/
